


With a War Approaching

by alyna



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, POV Sandor, POV Sansa, Post-Canon, Sandor Clegane/Sansa Stark - Freeform, Slow Burn, a lot more characters will be mentioned, sansan, the Stark sisters are loving and supportive
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-01-23 04:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12498440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyna/pseuds/alyna
Summary: When Brother Gravedigger hears of the ravens Lady Sansa Stark has sent out to recruit warriors for the fight against the Others, he becomes Sandor again and heads to Winterfell, though he does not plan to contact her. All comes different than expected though and the two find themselves drawn to each other again. Yet they have become different people and it is not easy to get to know each other again with a war approaching.





	1. Sandor

**Author's Note:**

> I hope this is something that is interesting for other people as well. I'm not quite sure where it is going right now, as it was just a spontaneous idea, but I already have a few more chapters and things will be very centered on SanSan with occasional bonding between the Stark sisters.

It was, Sandor decided, not that he hated winter, it was that winter hated him. It was his own fault though, traveling in winter like a bloody fool. The journey to Winterfell had been long when he had first taken it and that had been in summer and in peace. Now winter had come and the realm lay in ruins.

And for what was he riding after all? To save the world from bloody ice monsters? He still was a stupid dog it seemed. Still prepared to ride through the realm for his little bird. Not his. And not a little bird anymore, by what you heard. Like as not she didn't want him there, hated him even. 

It had been thoughts like that that had kept him occupied the whole journey, but still, he had not turned back. Even on the Quiet Isle people had talked about the ravens the Lady Sansa had sent out in the name of her brothers, King Rickon Stark of Winterfell and Jon Snow, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. She had implored every able warrior, man or woman, to come to the North and help them in the fight against... well, against creatures out of fairytales and myths. Sandor had scoffed at it the first time he heard it. He still did in truth.

But he had still come, hadn't he? Because there it was, there was a sign of Sansa.

Besides, it would have been foolish to turn back now and so he kept Stranger on the road to Winterfell. Soon he could smell and hear that he was getting close. To even get to the castle itself he had to cross through a camp of soldiers, some northern, some from the Vale, some Stormlanders loyal to Stannis Baratheon, some Riverlanders, some even from over the sea, from the host of the Dragon Queen, as men called her. 

And then the winter town, where people bustled just as much as in the camp, smallfolk busy preparing for the worst of winter. Sandor had hidden his face with a scarf again, like he had done on the Quiet Isle to avoid recognition. He probably need not have bothered though, for scarcely anyone paid attention to him. He reached Winterfells courtyard easily enough, to Sandors surprise. The danger lay to the North, he supposed, so the southern gates were left open. 

It through him out of whack, to be at his goal so soon. He had thought he would need a plan to get inside, something like that. Instead there he was, at just the same spot he had been at years ago when Robert Baratheon had dragged the whole court to the North to see his old friend Ned Stark again. How long ago that had been.

Sandor had had more than enough time to think on his journey north. And for all that he came on her command, it seemed selfish to actually contact the little bird just to ask for her forgiveness. The pain it would have brought her to see him would have to be great, a living reminder of the horror that happened to her in King's Landing. For he had been part of that horror, not only in that he had done nothing to protect her from Joffrey, but also on his own accord. 

Remembering the night of the Blackwater still gave him a pang of guilt. But he would not pain her more by standing at her doorstep one day and asking for absolution, as had been his original plan. Instead he would try to atone by dying for her in whatever war she fought. Yet there he was, standing in her home, in his old armor, his scarf over his face so no one would know him. For all that he had vowed to stay away from her so not to hurt her further... He had to see her. Just once he had to see his little bird again. 

She would be nothing like when he knew her in King's Landing surely, she was a woman grown now, having been wedded twice and only recently widowed. She would not be his little bird anymore. But he had to see her.

A stable boy approached him and Sandor realized that he must have been a queer figure standing in the courtyard and staring at Winterfell, while around him folks bustled around, carrying food and cloth and weapons from place to place. They were clearly preparing for war. “Do you have business in the castle, Ser?”, the boy asked, obviously eager to help and have the stranger be out of the way for the rest of them, “I can take your horse for you and take care of him.” 

Sandor was close to correcting him. He was not a ser, he still didn't like being called one and after his years as Brother Sandor it was stranger still, but he stopped himself. Better not to leave any clues to his identity at all. “Give him a warm place to wait for me and some water, but don't unsaddle him. I won't be long.”, he answered as he got of Stranger and gave the boy a coin to make sure his horse would be well treated.

It was only then, as he stood in the courtyard alone that he realized his plan had only ever really gone this far. What a stupid dog he was. Yearning for the moment to see her again, yet fearing it so much. And not even thinking about how he would achieve it. How dense could you be? What had he thought, that she would just be there? It seemed that he would have no other choice than to just search for Sansa, in a gigantic castle, preferably without anybody noticing him. He really had the best plans.

Fortunately Sandor still knew how to move without attracting attention, even as big as he was and with the limp he scarried. It had been a skill he had had to learn early in his childhood, with Gregor roaming the castle and tormenting him whenever he became aware of his little brother. And it was a skill that had come in handy often enough in King's Landing. 

It was made easy for him as well by the people bustling through the castle, mainly in one direction as he noticed. Sandor decided to follow them and sure enough they led him into the Great Hall. Keeping to the walls he led his gaze wander through the room. They were preparing for some feast of sort, it seemed. The walls were being lined with tapestries, the floor was being scrubbed, just as the enormous wooden tables.

And there, in the middle of all of it, was her. Little Bird. He chided himself for it immediately, but he could have sworn that she almost seemed to glow so beautiful was she. Her long auburn hair fell onto her back in a long braid, that he had the sudden urge to touch. She was still slender, but through her dress he could see that she had become a woman. She seemed pristine, elegant despite her simple dress, a goddess. Her voice carried through the room, still melodious, giving orders in a way that seemed sure, but not harsh. She carried herself upright, a Lady through and through, moving like she was dancing...

He only realized how taken in he had been by her when he felt a knife at his throat, even through the shawl. “And who are you, staring at my sister like that? Turn around and take of your disguise or I'll slit your throat.” 

Somehow Sandor did not doubt that and he didn't fancy being butchered in the hall of Winterfell after he had come so far, so he did as he was told. He didn't even say anything when he removed the scarf from his face, because in a way he was just as shocked as her when she saw his face. Might be that he had not listened to the gossip well enough, but never had he heard news of Arya Stark being in Winterfell. Yet the little she-wolf was apparently alive and well staring at him with an incredulous look on her face, that was otherwise hard to read. 

“You?!”, she growled and seemed more prepared than ever to slit his throat, when she was interrupted by a much lighter voice. 

“Arya? Arya, would you come over and lend me your knife please?” Sandor nearly would have laughed. The little bird was saving him it seemed, by wanting to use the dagger currently at his throat to cut some threat or other from a tapestry she was kneeling in front of at the head of the hall. “Arya?”, he could see Sansa looking up and accepting a knife by one of the maids next to her. “Sorry,  Maggy, I could swear she was here just a moment ago.” 

But by that point the she-wolf had already started dragging her prisoner to her sister and called to her: “I was busy, sister. Found some dog in the shadows.”

Sandor felt nauseous at the prospect of meeting her, but he did not resist Arya. With every step towards Sansa he felt his mouth getting drier. This had not gone as he had planned, not at all. Soon she would see him and then he would have to witness her face turn to disgust at the sight of him, when she had been smiling just moments ago. He would cause her pain again, everything he had not wanted. What a stupid, selfish old dog he was. The disdain in Aryas voice did him right. He had had no right to intrude into their home like this.

And yet... When she turned around, when he saw her nearer for the first time after years, when her face broke into the brightest of smile and she gasped his name... “Sandor...”, not Hound, not even Clegane, just Sandor... before he knew it he went down one one knee in front of her like a knight swearing his fealty.


	2. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks a lot to all the People who left kudos and comments. I hope you like this one as well, even if there's not much Happening.

 

_Sandor._

She had not even known she'd say his name, until she'd heard her own voice. Recognition had reduced her to an astonished whisper, quite unlike the self-assured lady she prided herself on being. She had not thought to see that face again. She had hoped, yes, but with the years going by the hope had dwindled. And after what Arya had told her about leaving him - she had been hurt and confused at how much so. The thought that the Hound had died alone in some god-deserted place had been awful. He did not deserve that.

But now... Sandor.

The thought hammered in her head. She must have been staring at him like a fool, from first seeing his face to when he knelt down in front of her. It was like she had woken up from a dream when she set herself in motion. She wanted to talk to him and ask him what had happened to him in the meantime. She wanted to look at his face, to make sure it was really him, after all these years. It was wondrous really.

So she picked him up, just so that she could look him in the eye and there were a lot of words dancing on her tongue. Where have you been? Why are you here? What happened? Yet she was aware of the people around them all to keenly and so she kept it all to herself and just said the most important thing: "We'll talk later.“

Truly, Sansa did not know what to do. She had been entirely unprepared, had had her mind fixed keenly on the evening ahead and how there was a face from her past right in front of her. It was overwhelming to say the least. But she could be counted on knowing her courtesies and she let herself be guided by them.

Friendly, but decisively, she ordered one of the maids to ready a room, one of those in the western tower. Mariah was one of the less talkative ones, he'd like that and she wouldn't gossip as much about the stranger. The girl hurried to do as she said straight away and Sansa went right on with all the right words, bidding her guest to follow the girl and tending to her own work again.

It was only then, as she kneeled in front of a tapestry again to cut of a loose threat and see to it that nothing else unravelled, that she could even process what had just transpired. That she had fed off Sandor Clegane with some empty courtesies - oh, how he would hate that. She blushed at the thought, the feeling strange. "Sansa? SANSA." She was startled abruptly by Arya next to her, who had followed her. "What the fuck was that about?", her sister growled, evidently not too happy. Sansa had not thought about that, though she did not know exactly what her sister was angry about. She also did not want Arya to talk with her in this kind of tone or discuss private matters in front of the maids.

To at least cancel out any all too close eavesdropping she sweetly smiled at Maggy and dispensed her, before she turned around to Arya. "I really don't think we should discuss this now.", she said, as gently as she could to soften the words. Arya did not take well to being challenged, she knew.

"Oh really?", her sister rolled her eyes at Sansa. "You and your courtesies, it's ridiculous. You do realize you don't have to take in everybody who comes through these doors as an honoured guest? Especially not the fucking Hound." Again, Arya had spoken quite loudly and Sansa sighed. Her sister was not to be deterred, it seemed. Yet she rather would have come to her senses before discussing the matter with Arya. She loved her sister and she was glad to be reunited with her, but sometimes... well, it did not seem like they spoke the same language sometimes. They were still rather different.

"I do realize that, yes.", she answered gently, trying to smooth Aryas rage a little, "But I do wonder why Sandor Clegane would just appear in Winterfell years after he has seen either of us. Besides, having a former Lannister man might even help with the negotiations. They're going to be awful enough as it is, but it might help with Tyrion Lannister and being friendly with him will certainly help with the Dragon Queen."

Arya did not look completely convinced, which was no wonder, as Sansa had not had a single thought like that in mind when she had greeted Clegane nd she knew quite well that he had never been especially friendly with Tyrion. She felt bad lying to her sister. Now that they were a family again there should have been no lies between them. But she had the feeling that Arya would not react kindly to her messed up thoughts and feelings, and she wanted to cut the conversation short. So even with guilt weighing on her, she felt glad that Arya let the whole thing go, albeit with a bit of grumbling to herself. Politics always was a safe way to turn her sister of a topic. Though, now that she had said it...

"I have not told him about the feast.", she exclaimed, ashamed of herself. That really should have been part of her invitation. For God's Sake she had not even asked the man whether he wanted to stay, besides that. What a hostess she was. She was glad she had had enough sense to specify what a room she wanted Clegane to have at least. With the scarceness of quarters in the castle Mariah probably would have given him any free room, and most they had left weren't as comfortable.

Arya just looked at her with an amusedly risen eyebrow. Sansa did not have to ask her to surmise that her sister did not understand why she was upset at all. "I'll have to get one of the maids to tell him.", Sansa said, but just as she had turned around to get one of them, Arya stopped her. "I'll do that later. Just calm down now and let's fix that bloody carpet of yours." Sansa looked at her sister a little taken aback, but Arya was not one to break her word and it did take one worry of her, so she nodded.

It is a pity, she thought, that Clegane would have arrived on a day like this, where her time was filled to the brim already.  Running a castle was nothing new to her, but with winter and a war fast approaching the task was sheerly enormous. And on top of that came the feast this evening. The Dragon Queen had only arrived a few days ago and they had met in the War Council already, but there was to be a proper celebration of their alliance this evening.

Jon had protested on this, asserting that Daenerys, as he called her, certainly wouldn't see the need for pomp like that. Sansa however was quite of a different opinion and Jon had only succeeded in convincing her that the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch wasn't keen on a feast, practical as he was with the strain on their resources and all that. The Targaryen woman however had arrived in the North with three dragons and set camp just outside the Winter Town in an enormous tent with her host around her, letting them hail her as "Mother of Dragons" and loudly proclaiming her right to the whole of Westeros.

That did sound like pomp to Sansa. Better to set the rules themselves and make it clear to the woman that she was a guest with the King in the North.

Sansa did not intend to be uncourteous of course. Quite the opposite, she hoped to be able to forge an alliance between all the different forces around Winterfell right now. Especially as the dragons would certainly prove very helpful in their fight against the Others. But an alliance between equals it would have to be, and if Daenery Targaryen wanted to rule them, well, she would have to earn that.

Sansa knew it would fall chiefly to her to make sure the different war leaders would get on with each other. Rickon might be King in the North, but he was a child, and not one schooled in politics at that. Quite the opposite indeed, for as grateful as Sansa was to the wildling woman Osha for saving her brother, it showed that he had grown up in the wilderness of Skagos. He was unruly at best, downright wild sometimes and Sansa, who got along splendidly with Ghost, Nymeria and Summer, was sometimes afraid of his wolf, Shaggydog. She would defend Rickons throne with all that she had, but for now part of that was doing the work of ruling for him. And for all that it was worth, she had learned how to do that.

With her sudden encounter of Sandor it was no wonder that her mind wandered back to King's Landing. As cruel as Joffrey and his mother had been, she had learned to harden themselves from them. If I am ever queen, I will make them love me. Well, she was the next best thing now and she felt she had succeeded in that at least.

Though the real lessons had come later. Littlefinger had been a disgusting, slimy rat, but she had learned what she could from him. She had acted as Lady of the Vale for long enough to be able to master running Winterfell quite smoothly. And even Harry had been a lesson, a lesson on how to use her beauty to her advantage if need be, instead of it being a source of constant danger. She still did not like to do it, but if she had to, she could. If she had gotten a proud lordling to marry the bastard daughter of a man quite beneath his station, well, she could probably do anything.

 

Sometimes she even thought sadly of Harry Hardyng, or Arryn as they had called themselves after the wedding. It had not been a happy marriage, short as it was, but he had not been cruel to her. Thinking of Harry made her think of another kiss, though, today more than ever. One she had liked far more, the one she had given the Hound in the night of the Blackwater. She wondered whether he still thought of that as well.


	3. Sandor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been some time since I uploaded, as Uni and life in General have just been crazy. This is a short chapter too, but I thought it was necessary before the plot proceeds in the next chapter-

She had given him a room.

Sansa had obviously been busy, yet she had taken the time to graciously pick him of the ground, welcome him to Winterfell as an honoured guest and, under the incredulous stare of her sister, send a maid to bring him to a guest room. And most of all, she had touched his hand, quite lightly and looked him directly in the eyes, while saying: „We’ll talk later.“ It had sounded like a promise. Then Sansa had left him in the care of the maid, a young girl, who was obviously scared of him, but did her best to follow her ladies wishes. She had prepared the room while he had gone to the stables to find Stranger, make sure he was being seen to and get his stuff.

Now he sat in his chamber and while he was still confused he also felt anger rising. How could Sansa be so damn nice? Seeing him must have remembered her of what had doubtless been one of the worst times of her life, her time as a hostage in King's Landing. He had not helped her then, had even broken into her room and threatened her on the night of the Blackwater. Yet she had greeted him like an old friend. It made him sick in his stomach, for he did not deserve this kindness, or any kindness of hers. Still a true lady, still too good for an evil dog like him. He would have hated her for it, if he could, but he had never been able to hate her, not even back when he was the Hound and hated everyone and everything. 

So he became angry at himself instead. He should not have come, should not have intruded into her home and her life. She was too courteous to be rude to him, but Sansa surely did not want him here. With a jerk he stood up from the simple, yet freshly made bed he had been sitting on. It was a small chamber and he could scarcely stand in front of the bed without stumbling into the chair that sat in the corner of the rectangular room, yet it had a fire bowl stand in the other corner to keep him warm. The maid had gone to make a fire there, yet he had sent her away. He didn’t feel like he needed it strangely, as cold as it was outside. 

When he had remembered something about Winterfell being built on top of hot wells he had bent down to touch the floor and felt it being slightly warm. It was a good room, better than anything he had slept in since the Quiet Isle and certainly not easy to find in a castle with an army in front of its doors. Now that he thought about it, with all the cleaning and the decorating going on in the Great Hall, there would probably be a feast or something like it in the evening. One reason more not to cause any trouble. 

He had just come to this conclusion, when the door to the room burst open and the little she-wolf strode inside. Well, as far as she could, at least. She kind of stood in the doorway, as it was, and looked at him just as suspiciously as before. Sandor felt self conscious, knowing that she had caught him standing in the middle of the room looking like a big idiot and flinching when the door had flown open. “Sansa sent me.”, Arya announced without further ado, and added: “There’s going to be a feast in the Hall tonight and she wants you to attend.” 

She studied his reaction with squinted eyes. Sandor shook his head though. Arya obviously did not want him here and neither would her sister. She was just courteous. “Nah, rather wouldn’t. I’ll be on my way in a minute. Wouldn’t want to intrude.” 

That did not seem to make the little she-wolf happier though. “My. Sister. Wants. You. To. Come.”, she spelled out. “The Gods know why, but that means you’re going to come.” Somehow Sandor doubted that Sansa had ordered the message to be brought in this tone. Which begged the question why she had even sent her sister.

Arya made a step into the room and looked up at him, squarely into his eyes. “If you ever hurt Sansa again, I will kill you. Don’t doubt it, for I won’t spare you another time.” Then she turned around on her heels and left him, the door still standing open. Sandor closed it after her. It was settled he guessed and sat down on the bed again. He would stay in Winterfell, at least as long as Sansa would have him. He had been an idiot to come, but at least he'd seen her and she had seemed safe and happy. That was more than what he'd hoped for.

It would have been selfish to think that maybe she wanted him here.


	4. Sansa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot is happening in this chapter, but I wanted to show Sansa in action before we head into the next chapter, which will be rather long.  
> Thanks a lot for your support in reading and commenting on this story. It really means a lot to me.

Sansa smoothed her dress out under the table. She did not fidget, though she would have liked to. Yet she had lost the habit early during her days in King’s Landing, when every move could make Joffrey aware of her presence, so that he would think of a new way to punish her. This evening however she came quite near to falling back into old habits. Sansa was nervous, yes, and with good reason. The seating for the evening had been quite a nightmare to think up and nobody seemed to be quite happy with it, neither the Dragon Queen, nor her rival Stannis Baratheon, nor Rickon. Her brother presided over the table of course, being the Lord of the castle. He was framed by Jon on his right side and Sansa on his left. She would not have suffered for him to be alone or for her family to be replaced by southron kings. Accordingly Arya was seated beside Jon and Bran beside herself. 

Sansa had seated Daenerys Targaryen next to Arya, as Jon seemed quite fond of her, strangely. Yet maybe it was natural, that they would feel a connection to each other. While it was not commonly known, his family and the highest ranking people in the room had been informed a few weeks ago, that Jon was Daenerys’ nephew by Bran, who had apparently been witness to his birth through a vision. The weirdness of it all had not yet ceased to amaze Sansa, and she was not sure that it ever would. 

That left the other crowned head in Winterfell, Stannis Baratheon, for the seat next to Bran. He was a cold man, Sansa thought, and with Bran not being in the habit of saying much these days it would be her obligation to entertain him. He had objected to her presence in the war council on the grounds of her being a woman, yet she had insisted. Until Rickon had come of age she was his regent after all. Next to Stannis Baratheon sat Bronze Yohn Royce, who led the armies of the Vale and represented his Lord Robert Arryn, her little sweetrobin, who was back in the Eyrie. Bronze Yohn had become one of her own closest advisors on their way north and she expected him to rule the Eyrie in Roberts stead, if he lived through the war. Her uncle Edmure was seated beside the Dragon Queen and hopefully his easy temper would help in allaying her obvious anger over not being seated at the head of the table.

Lower at the table Sansa had seated the diverse Hands, advisors and lords and those of their spouses that had come with their monarchs. She had mixed Northern lords and their guests as best as she could, taking into consideration their allegiances, family histories, grudges and sympathies, whether formed in the war or recently. It had taken days of planning, for she did not want this feast to be marred by quarrels breaking out. She had hoped it would inspire them, make them feel like they were truly part of one army fighting for one common goal. Any conflict would be discussed in the war council, not tonight. 

And if the seating arrangements had been a horror, and one that none of her siblings or advisors had quite grasped the importance of, the question of what to serve had been quite as nightmarishly to answer. It was winter after all and she would not spent all of Winterfells resources for a feast to greet the strange Dragon Queen most of her men only barely tolerated in their midst. Yet when Daenerys Targaryen had arrived only a week before and the mumbling about her strangeness, that of her men, and her insolence in claiming all of Westeros had started, Sansa had known that they needed something to bind them together, if this alliance should work. And she wanted it to work, for all that she was wary of the Dragon Queen and her claim as well. They needed her dragons for the fight against the Others and for all her arrogance she had seemingly understood what Stannis Baratheon had understood as well: that if you claimed the right to rule people, you had to protect them as well. So Sansa had decided on celebrating their new alliance not only with a feast in the Great Hall of Winterfell, but also by giving out extra rations of food and drink to the soldiers tonight. Not too much drink though, so there would be no drunken fights. Still, they would learn to associate coming together as a positive thing.

Sansa hoped the same thing would be true for the lords in the Great Hall, so the strain on their ressources would be justified. Yet as she let her gaze wonder over the assembeled, she did not only search for signs of mistrust and arguments breaking out. She also searched for one very specific face. Only this morning had she realized that a part of her had always hoped to see the Hound again. She had known it to be impossible, exspecially after Arya had told her of leaving him heavily wounded, and yet... When she had seen him again this morning, it felt like a yearning had been satisfied that she had not even known to be there. She had only believed him to be real when she had touched him to pick him of the ground. Had been as flabberghasted by his being there as by his kneeling. The Hound. Clegane. Sandor.

It had seemed to her almost as if she had only imagined it all, until she saw Sandors face lower at the table when she led Rickon into the Hall, Bran and Arya at their sides, presenting as a family once more. She had given Sandor as high a place as she dared and as she could besides, on such short notice. It was a strange desire to honour him such, even though he would probably not appreciate it.

Sansa was carefull however, not to let her eyes return to the Hound all too often. Instead she let her gaze wander and presented the hall a smile she knew to be enchanting. The Starks had been the last to come to the table, just as she had planned, and while the kings Baratheon and Tagaryen did not seem happy with it, Sansa thought it was the right decision. She knew how important it was not to ruffle their feathers too much, but beside being King himself, Rickon was Lord of the castle they all resided in and thus had precedence. Sansa would not have his status underminded by southron monarchs, no matter how proud. 

However she had not been able to make Rickon understand the importance of addressing the assembly, though she had not much tried either. He was still wild, though not as near a feral beast as he had been when she had first seen him again, and for the moment she focused more on gaining his trust than making him fill any of his new roles. She was more than able to rule for him until he was comfortable enough to do it. The relationship to her little brother was way more important to her than any politics. So Sansa herself had prepared a few words to open the feast. When all had seated themselves she stoop up and cleared her throat. The remaining conversations in the hall died down quickly, as she began to speak. 

"My dear friends! We are assembled here, on the invite of my lord, the King in the North" - loud cheers from the nothern lords, that Sansa quieted with a raise of her palm - "to celebrate the beginning of an alliance. There are forces beyond the wall that wish to destroy us all and it warms my heart that we, as humans, are able to come together despite our differences and fight them. The Night's Watch has always been our first line of defense against the Others and while most of them are at the wall, guarding us all with their lives, their venerable Lord Commander is here today to celebrate with us. As is Stannis Baratheon, the first of his name" - cheering again, this time by Baratheons men - "who abandoned the fight for his throne in the south to come north and restore Stark rule to Winterfell. It is with great honour that King Rickon has welcomed him to this hall. Just as much we hail the valiant knights of the Vale" - again Sansa had to pause - "whom I myself am indebted to for restoring me to the place of my birth and those of the Riverlands" - cheering - "under the lead of my dear uncle. And now we can welcome a new member to our coalition, Queen Daenerys Targaryen, first of her name." A roar of cheers erupted from the queens men, which she quieted herself with a wave of her hand. "Together we will be the strongest we have ever been. It is King Rickons wish, that we celebrate our bond and we shall heed him. Let us drink to life and love and all that makes us human."

As Sansa held up her cup all around the hall people raised theirs and she felt a geniune smile widen on her face, as they exclaimed: "To life."


End file.
